


Alaskan Holiday

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Autumn, Halloween, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames and Arthur meet up for a job. Halloween inspired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alaskan Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a bit hastily, hope it's enjoyable. I might continue it as a story or series of drabbles, if there's a good response. Criticism and comments appreciated.

When Arthur was seven, he hid under tables from his father. Some of his earliest memories were of rearranging kitchen chairs in order to play with his brother, sliding across the linoleum floor and charging down the narrow hallways after each other. That childish thrill and air of charged energy, that forbidden giggling, hiding under tables to avoid punishment, he could see it spilling out of Eames. The man had spent All Hallow’s Eve in a club, supposedly researching for a potential job. He now smelled of spiced pumpkin perfume. Arthur was almost certain it was overpowering the smell of another drug. Alcohol, cigarettes, whatever new filthy habit Eames had found in the men’s room.

He clutched the blankets into a fist, warmth from the covers seeping in. Eames smiled, stepping into full view, back against the striped hotel wallpaper. “Breakfast’s on the counter, darling.” Arthur could already smell the thick cinnamon crusted bagels he’d come to associate with Eames. His body screamed for the sweet salt and heavy carbs, but Arthur forced himself to refuse Eames’ peace offer, instead making his way to the shower.

If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t recall many details from last night. Maybe it was just a dream, but his tongue recalled the texture of melted chocolate on skin. Something told him that was a tall man’s clavicle, not his own fingers. Turning on the shower, Arthur checked himself in the mirror for any telling marks. It had been years since he’d let himself go with the alcohol. Miraculously he’d slept off a good part of the hangover.

\---

Fifteen minutes of snapping remarks passed between the two men before Arthur was toweling off his hair, putting on socks. He’d put off his usual suit for a more casual sweater and dark jeans. Eames had put on a silver scarf that clashed in every way with his patterned shirt. Arthur made a mental note to include that item in the list of Eames clothes he had yet to set fire to.

As he walked out the door, Eames handed him a cooling Styrofoam cup of coffee. Arthur accepted it with a mumbled acknowledgment, pointedly passing up the bagels. They headed to the elevator, pushing the button for the main floor. Arthur drank the coffee, running through his head his reasons for being in Anchorage.

They were meant to meet with an employer in Northern Alaska two days ago, as a team. When no one had shown, Arthur had made calls, started becoming paranoid. He’d taken Eames and left town, heading South to Anchorage. Eames had talked him down, convincing him against all his instincts to stay in town for the holiday. Their position allowed him to lay low, while examining leads on the situation, and waiting to be contacted by the employer. As part of their bargain to stay in town, Arthur had promised to go with Eames to a small town festival the following day.

“It’s not even October anymore, Eames. There’s nothing haunted about November.” Arthur murmured. Eames unlocked their car, getting into the driver’s seat and checking his phone for directions. “It’s still Autumn, can I not celebrate the season?” Eames supplied, starting the car. Arthur pulled his seatbelt on, refraining from toying with the stereo. “It’s cold as hell out, why can’t we celebrate with hot chocolate and a fire, indoors.” Arthur had his gloves on, coat zipped up, air vents blowing warm air straight at his face. Eames shifted into third, promising to treat him to ‘real’ hot chocolate, not that crap coffee from the hotel.

Arthur forced back a smile. This was so domestic. Normally by now they’d be shooting up with Somnacin, drawing detailed plans of fantasy worlds, stalking a stranger through town and planning a way to kidnap him. Instead he was bundled up in a tiny yellow smart car on his way to drink hot chocolate and ride in a wagon with Eames like a fucking domestic couple. It put his teeth on edge to see how bad this situation really was. He looked over at Eames, cheeks already red with cold, scarf covering his chin, eyes focused on the road. That _thing_ in his chest curled at the sight. Arthur stared out the passenger window, watching trees and frozen ground rush by. Wherever they were going it was out of the way. He trusted Eames to have good reason for taking them so far, but something else was bothering him. It wasn’t normal for the Forger to be so quiet, even if he did still have a hangover.

\---

Eames gripped the steering wheel, trying to force some more blood into his chilled fingers. He looked over at Arthur almost in time to catch him staring, then turned right back to the road, heart rate up. God this was such a bad idea. What had moved him to ask Arthur to stay? Why the fuck were they going to this festival, why had he brought Arthur- Arthur, the best pointman in the business, who knew had pulled off Inception multiple times now, who Eames had personally witnessed kill a flood of militarized projections with only a crowbar, _the_ Arthur- why had Eames brought him breakfast in bed? Like he was some sort of old companion, as if Arthur had ever needed anyone to wake him up. Eames shook his head slowly, remembering the night before.

He’d seen the bartender flirting with Arthur, leaning over the table to laugh and whisper in Arthur’s ear. The Pointman had blushed. Eames couldn’t fucking handle it, the one time he’d seen Arthur display that much emotion was in front of some stranger who couldn’t keep it in his pants. Eames had left the bar, pushing into the crowd of dancing people, finding some relief in the mindless freeing pulse of bodies moving against him.

He rubbed at his eyes, tired from the night before. Well he was here now. He was finally making a move. Perhaps not as seductive or blunt as usual, but they were together, right? Arthur was next to him, and he wasn’t complaining, at least not about Eames’ presence. Eames put on his signal, taking an exit off the highway, moving them further off the beaten track.

Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if snow started falling. The clouds were hanging low and grey, too thick for the sun to reach through. He followed Eames out of the parking lot, past a short line of vendors selling warm clothes and beverages, to the woman selling tickets. Arthur stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets, starting to feel the cold set in. Eames turned back to him, grinning. “It’ll be dark soon, the next ride’s in an hour.”

\---

Dead leaves covered the dirt ground. They’d been walking through the forest for at least half an hour, footsteps and the rustle of leaves the only break in the silence. Eames was sipping a hot chocolate. Arthur fought down the jealousy and chill that pushed him to ask for just a taste of the warmth. He’d refused earlier out of some sense of pride and difference.

“Haven’t found anything else about the job?” Eames asked, stepping carefully. Arthur shook his head. “You were the one to take the job, is there anything else you know?”

“Arthur, you know there’s nothing. If I thought it suspicious, I wouldn’t have brought you into it, I know how careful you are. You were with Cobb for so long,”

“Christ, Eames, stop bringing that up. Just because you wrack up gambling debts and a price on your head doesn’t make you anything special.” Arthur snapped.

Eames stopped short, cut by the truth of Arthur’s words.  
“I was trying to be considerate here, darling. I brought you in on this, right? It would be a good payout, it’s not my fault he didn’t show.”

Arthur shut his mouth before he shot back an angry retort. He hadn’t wanted the job. Hadn’t needed  the money. He was here for Eames, and he’d given up on convincing himself it was anything else.

“Look maybe I should let you be for a while.” Eames said, voice surprisingly soft.

Arthur turned, startled but cold. “Yeah. Yeah maybe you should.” He didn’t want to sit down on the frozen seat of some wagon and listen to Eames go on about the starry night sky or some shit.

\---

Eames looked down at the ground, hurt. It wouldn’t be dark for a good half hour, he reasoned. He turned back towards what little civilizations was out here, following the trail back to the vendors. The minute Arthur was out of sight, he chucked his cup of coffee into the trees, sinking to the ground just off the path.

Arthur stood still for a while, confused. What just happened? Why had he turned on Eames so harshly? He knew the other man expressed his emotions more, but this was different. Their fights had never been so petty and angry. In some way their arguments had always been brutally entertaining and bitterly friendly. Eames had never walked out. It was always Arthur pushing him away when he came to close, like a scared animal that wasn’t used to the comforts of intimacy.

“Eames..” Arthur hissed, turning back in the direction Eames had gone. The path was empty. Hauntingly silent. He felt traces of his old paranoia crawling backwards, recalling the man who hadn’t shown, the disquieting stillness pushing him into his thoughts. Images of possibilities, the man shot, head blown open like an eggshell, his killers tracking down Arthur and Eames. Eames… Arthur had pushed him away so many times, and he was finally walking away. Thoughts kept rushing through Arthur’s head, pushing him back.

\---

Eames startled, turning quickly to face the sound of leaves being kicked up. Arthur was almost on him, his features mirroring the shock and disturbance in Eames’ thoughts. Arthur crashed into him, grabbing onto his coat, almost sending the two of them toppling to the frozen ground. Eames reached out, bracing himself on a tree, barely balancing the two of them.

“You alright, darling? What’s happened?” Eames asked, one arm over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur looked up at him, breathing hard, and closed his mouth. There was so much he’d missed there. That concerned look held so much care, compassion, animalistic urge to kill whatever it was that had made Arthur, _his_ Arthur, run through the woods like that.

That one final breath before the plunge, and Arthur’s lips were pressing against his. Eames stood perfectly still, eyes still open. Arthur’s hair was a mess, usual control ruined by the wind, the cold, the hat he’d been wearing earlier. Eames shut his eyes, reaching up to touch Arthur’s cheek, feeling the small warmth move into his fingers. He opened his lips, breathing in cold air, kissing Arthur back.

It seemed as if they stood there for minutes, neither moving, Arthur still clinging to Eames’ coat, lips moving slowly, almost frozen with cold. When Eames moved back to take a breath, Arthur followed him, eyes opening slowly before he stopped. Eames licked his lips, savoring the taste. “You.” He couldn’t get the words out. Arthur moved closer, his eyes a question, a faint smile on his lips, like he couldn’t believe exactly what he himself was doing. Eames gave in, capturing his partner’s lips in a kiss, fingers now reaching up to tangle in those long black locks. Arthur made a sound, leaning into the touch, tilting his head back, breathing the cold air again.

“Eames I couldn’t, I’m sorry, I just had to stop.” Arthur shivered, leaning his head close to Eames. The Forger stared. “I’m so tired of not doing this.” Arthur leaned in, kissing his cheek.


End file.
